


he's everything you want, he's everything you need

by Radio Rascal (Vagrants)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Empurata, Gen, froid has a bad day and he actually doesn't deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 13:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17367134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrants/pseuds/Radio%20Rascal
Summary: Froid is glad he has such a good friend to help him in his time of need.





	he's everything you want, he's everything you need

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a lyric from Everything You want by Vertical Horizon. it's not really a song i associate with this, i was just stuck for a title and it was sorta the first thing to pop into my head.
> 
> i'm not like super knowledgeable about Shattered Glass but i love it and wanted to take a shot at making SG versions of some characters.

Froid’s body gave a final, jerking sob, then a cold spark-deep shudder, and for the first time in half an hour he was still. Now that the emotion was out of him he felt truly numb. It was a more complete and gripping numbness than the anesthetic they claimed to give him. He lifted his helm—so unfamiliar and light—from his knees and looked around.

The streets were empty with the night, and the time he spent with his helm pressed to his legs made him sensitive to the streetlights. Soft music was coming from somewhere, a noise he hadn’t been able to notice until now. He focused on it, grasping at the faint notes, trying to identify the song or at least let it fill his empty processor.

He lowered his gaze—so narrow and flat—and caught a glimpse of his hands. His venting hitched and his whole body tensed, cold fear lancing his spark. Froid offlined his optic and focused on his venting, not permitting his mind to linger on what he saw. When the image floated into his mental eye again, he did his best to dismiss it, and somehow, after a few minutes, he felt okay.

This time he warned himself about what he was about to see, and he still in-vented sharply at the sight, but it passed and he calmed. He made the claws turn, widen, and click together. His hands had never been super important to him—he dictated to tapes more than he wrote—but still, could he get used to this?

They’d kept his paint, at least. Dark grey plating, green accents, even his new optic was the same color. Did that mean he’d been favored in some way? He’d seen Empurata who didn’t possess a shred of their old selves.

He heard a tiny step, and somewhere in the depths of his processor he must have recognized it, for when the person laid a servo on his helm he didn’t startle. Or maybe he didn’t care anymore. Either way, he did recognize the person, and turned his optic to look.

Rung was leaning over him, smiling, offering energon sticks with his other servo. Froid shook his helm and looked away.

“I don’t know how to eat yet, frankly,” he said.

“That’ll come in time,” Rung replied.

“Can you believe it?” Froid tried to laugh and sighed instead. He lifted a claw. “Empurata, me. They said I was an  _ Autobot _ .”

“They’ll come up with anything nowadays, won’t they?” At least Rung’s voice was calm—even calming.

“It was an anonymous tip, they said. Who would want to do this to me, Rung?”

“I have no idea.” (Froid was so focused on his claws that he didn’t see the twitch in Rung’s expression—but even if he did, he wouldn’t have read anything into it.)

“I can’t work like this,” Froid went on. “I can’t be a therapist like this! I’m over, Rung. Everything’s over.”

“Yes,” Rung replied quietly, resting his servo on Froid’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you it’ll be all right, but I can offer you something. Why don’t you stay at my place while you adjust?”

Froid looked at him again, feeling his optic brighten. Was that how he was supposed to express himself now? “Really, Rung? You sure?”

The lilac-and-yellow bot nodded. “I don’t have any roommates, so it’s not like you’d be crowding me. You’ll recover better if you’re surrounded by friends.” Rung’s servo wrapped around his upper arm. “Come on, you can’t just sit here on the street all day. Let’s get going.”

Froid stood and was surprised at how steady he felt on his legs. They began walking, slowly at first as he grew accustomed to not having depth perception. He hadn’t moved much since they threw him out of the facility and was struggling with how strange it was. Rung kept a guiding servo on his arm.

He was thankful beyond description to have such a good friend.

* * *

Rung had gone to gloat. His grand plan was to announce what he’d done while Froid was laying there, prone and filthy and in pain, and watch the last of his old “friend” shatter into pieces. When he got there, though—standing at the mouth of the alley behind the facility, watching Froid sit there and stare like a dumb blank protoform, something changed. Rung got another idea.

Two weeks after inviting him into his home, Froid was a mess. The initial shock wore off and he sank into the depths of dysphoria. He would sit in the corner muttering and knocking his helm against the wall. It must have felt wrong; Empurata heads were designed to feel wrong. He scuffed the wall but Rung didn’t care because it made him feel triumphant to look at the marks.

His head wobbled. They must not have screwed it on tightly enough or left something unconnected. For Rung this was like finding an extra piece of candy at the bottom of an energon goodies bag—Empurata, and  _ they messed up _ ! It was too good. Stress made the wobbling worse, Rung had observed.

It was early morning, and he was getting ready to head out for the day. Froid was huddled in the usual corner and would most likely be there when he returned. Then he turned and happened to look out the window, seeing two bots walking down the street. The sight of them gave him an idea, and he grinned a little before settling his expression.

“Who are those people?” he muttered, moving closer to the window. He let enough dark speculation seep into his tone to reach Froid, who scraped against the wall as he straightened himself. “Oh dear. Are they from the institute?”

“Institute?”

“Now why would they be wandering around here? They couldn’t be looking for you!”

Froid scrambled to his pedes, his venting labored. “No! N-no no no, Rung don’t let them in! Don’t let them get me!”

“They’re turning down this street…” The bots really did; he didn’t want Froid to get suspicious if he looked out for himself.

“ _ No I didn’t do anything what did I do why are they here _ —”

Rung turned to him. His helm shook so hard Rung thought it might pop off; he couldn’t see anything with his optic whipping around like that, which must have added to his distress. He raised his claws to the sides of his helm, trying to steady himself, and when it didn’t work he just shook harder and faster, the compounding stress making his optic brighten uncomfortably.

Rung looked out the window again. The bots were nowhere to be seen. “They’re gone, friend. I was mistaken. Sorry.”

“Mista—mis—they’re gone, oh Primus…” Froid collapsed to the floor again, holding his head as still as he could. He was starting to calm down. As much as Rung would have liked to torment him further, he really needed to get going.

“I’m sorry, Froid, I have to go,” he said, feigning concern as he hurried to the door. “Turn on that music you like, try to relax.” He’d taken the player apart and broken it last night. He didn’t stick around to see Froid’s reaction to that, though.

* * *

Froid started to feel better, bit by bit. “I want to start working again,” he was saying as he paced around the living room. Rung was in the adjoined kitchen, at the table with a cup of energon and a news datapad. “It doesn’t have to be therapy. I’m not ready, and all my patients have moved on by now.” He’d worked up the courage to talk to them yesterday. Some had found a new therapist on their own, and others needed his help. Most of them expressed sympathy for his condition, and others were just quiet when he explained his condition.

He wanted to believe their sympathy, to believe he still had a life after this. It helped to embolden him. The ache in his processor seemed to be fading, the weather was good, and for the first time since it happened he woke without nightmares.

Rung set the datapad down and stood. “Froid, you know I want you to reintegrate into society,” he started gently, “but don’t you think you’re going a bit fast? It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

“Well, yes, but...I’m just so…”

“You feel better than you have before but that doesn’t mean you’re good yet.” Rung’s expression trended towards compassion. “You might never be truly good again. You need more time. It’s all right. You can stay here as long as you want.”

“Are you really sure?” Froid glanced around the apartment. Something about it made him feel like he was trapped, even though he could walk out the door anytime he wanted.

“Is that what’s got you so worked up?” Rung chuckled. “Froid, I do not mind your company whatsoever. In fact, I like having you around. Stay as long as you want. As long as you need. There’s no rush.”

* * *

Months passed. Froid never got ready for work. He busied himself around the apartment—he cleaned and even taught himself how to fix some things, like wobbly table legs. Over time he brought up the idea of work less and less. Rung always had a reason for why he should wait and it always made sense.

Rung was always there for him. Rung convinced him to sell his practice, which he’d been paying for with his savings. Rung let him know when people were showing false sympathy, like his patients, who never tried to contact him again after getting what they needed from him! None of them cared. Only Rung cared.

And his friend was so gracious, so considerate, so patient; it made Froid’s shame, as well as his dependency, deeper and heavier. He could do so little with what he had left. He could not hope to repay his friend’s generosity.

Then the Autobots took over. Optimus Prime slaughtered the Senate and appointed himself dictator of Cybertron. Sometimes he called himself king, sometimes emperor, sometimes Primus. Though Froid was glad to see the Senate go, what it was replaced with ended up being worse.

The Autobots started culling Empurata victims because they “looked funny.” Literally—they made Optimus laugh, and he was going through “a phase” (Rung’s words) where he thought laughing made him look less cool. Anything that made him look uncool was to be destroyed. Apparently he’d taken to ripping off his own subordinates’ heads if they so much as tripped by accident and it made him chuckle.

Froid couldn’t leave the apartment now even if he wanted. He’d rarely gone out before, but now he just huddled in his corner again all day with the blinds drawn, waiting for Rung to come back. It was dark, and so quiet. He was afraid of letting anyone know he was in here. What if the neighbors remembered him? What if someone called the Autobots? They had to think this place was empty.

So Froid would get very still and small in the furthest corner he could find, offline his optic, and wait. With only himself for company, and not even a shred of light to warm himself, he grew worse—worse than even at the start, when he was still adjusting. Rung spent more and more time away, apparently selected by the Autobots for some kind of task. Froid spent more and more time alone in the dark.

One day they didn’t have food in the apartment. Froid waited with the hunger gnawing at him until Rung opened the front door. The darkness was broken by a rectangle of light, and then the whole world brightened as Rung turned on the lights. Froid snapped to alertness from his half-dozing state.

“Rung, welcome home,” he called out in a whisper. “Hey, do you have anything to eat? You forgot to leave something for me.”

“Oh, right.” Something in the purple bot’s tone set him on edge. Rung took a small cube from his subspace and set it down on a nightstand. “Here. This is what you get for today.”

Froid stood and traipsed over. “Could I have some more? I’m awfully hungry.”

“No,” Rung said, and went into the other room.

* * *

“Do you know why I keep you around?” Rung asked.

Froid onlined his optic for the first time that day. It was a “no food” day, so he’d intended to lay flat on the floor where Rung wouldn’t notice him. Being addressed directly was a rare thing nowadays, though, and the naive part of Froid who still wanted Rung to be his friend got excited at being spoken to with something other than short, dismissive quips.

“Why, Rung?”

“At first, it was because I pitied you. I always hated you, but seeing you that day made me realize how pathetic you really are. You gave up  _ so easily _ , dear Froid…” Rung leaned over him, orange optics bright in the dimness. “If I turn you loose now you’ll die. Empurata ruined you, Froid, but you weren’t much of anything in the first place. Now I’m all you have.”

“I know. I already know all that.”

“Then you understand that you’ve given me nothing in return.” Rung’s tone was brisk, professional.

“I have nothing,” Froid said. “I can do nothing. I am nothing.”

“It’s all right, Froid. I know something you can do.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow.”

His spark chilled. Some part of him realized what Rung was thinking, and railed against it.

* * *

Froid became conscious in darkness. He onlined his optic and stared up at a dingy ceiling. There was a line in his arm, and machines beeping softly near him. Where was he? He remembered sneaking away from Rung’s, stumbling into an Autobot patrol, running for his life...he must have blacked out.

“Oh, you’re awake,” came a deep voice. “Don’t panic.”

He turned his helm to a huge red-and-white bot with some peculiar kibble. Was that a radio dish? What even was his alt mode? Though the bot  _ was _ frightening, Froid knew there was nothing to fear from him. Now he remembered; this bot saved him.

“How are you feeling?” the medic asked, coming closer.

“Fine, I guess.” Froid sat up. He was sore, but that was all.

“I fixed your injuries.”

“I wasn’t injured.” Then Froid noticed it—his head was stable! He lifted a claw to tap it. “That was always there. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m a doctor, I fix people.” The bot placed a servo upon his chest. “My name’s Sunder, by the way. I’m a Decepticon. I was on patrol when I heard Autobots and happened to run into you, literally.”

“A medic who goes on patrols?”

“I’m big, scary, tough, and I can provide medical care to anyone I might find on the street. Makes sense to me, anyway.”

“W-well...thank you. Where are we?”

“The Decepticons’ underground base. It’s a temporary arrangement. We were gonna move soon, but it’s a pretty good thing we didn’t yet, eh? I wouldn’t have found you!”

Froid shook his helm. “I can’t repay you for this. I can’t do anything.”

“Again. I am a doctor. It’s just sort of my thing. Now, I have you on a line, but would you like something to drink? I can make it hot.”

He considered, then said yes. Sunder walked to the other side of the room, where a counter was set up with some appliances. It didn’t look like a med bay at all. Froid noticed that Sunder was actually hunkering to fit under the ceiling.

“My name’s Froid,” he said, feeling awkward. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sunder replied, focused on the energon heater. “So what’s your story? If you don’t mind sharing.”

He drew his knees to his chest and hugged himself. “I do mind, sorry. It’s...I can’t talk about it yet.”

“Yep, I understand. We don’t really have a therapist, but uh, Trepan’s kinda good at that sort of stuff if you do decide to talk about it.”

“No. I won’t be staying that long.”

Sunder came over with a steaming cup, which Froid accepted. “That’s your choice, but do you even have anywhere to go?”

Froid hadn’t realized how much he needed energon, needed  _ warmth _ , until the cup was in his hands. He emptied it so fast he barely tasted it. “No. Thank you for the energon, and for the care.”

“Why not join the Decepticons?”

“Because I can’t contribute anything to your cause.”

“We don’t need you to fight, or even fix people. I’m sure there’s plenty you could do.”

“I am nothing,” Froid hissed, optic narrowed. For some reason he was angry, angrier than he’d ever been while under Rung’s “care.” He used to be a therapist, yet he couldn’t parse even his own feelings anymore.

Sunder drew back. “Well, what’d you do before I found you?”

“Nothing!”

Sunder looked at him for a moment. “What’d you do before that happened to you?”

Froid shook, but something compelled him to answer. “I was a therapist.”

“That’s good. Those are something our world needs. It’s something we need, Froid.”

He didn’t answer, and looked the other way.

“I’ll leave you alone for a little while,” Sunder said. “Got other patients, and stuff. Just think about it, okay? About the Decepticons.” His heavy frame crossed Froid’s vision and disappeared through a door.

It had been a strange, difficult day—a strange, difficult year. Empurata, Rung, Autobots, Decepticons. Now he sat in a med bay that was barely a med bay, the ward of a band of wannabe freedom fighters who wanted to recruit him for a function he no longer performed. He wanted to scream. He wanted to keep running.

Froid hugged his knees tighter and pressed his helm down into the little pocket of darkness and warmth they formed. A sob formed in his chest, then another, and another, growing larger and stronger until his frame shook. He was alone, without a home or friends, but that was fine by him.

**Author's Note:**

> i love comments so very much! i'm terrible at responding because of my social anxiety but know if you leave a comment i'll read it and reread it and i appreciate you so much. don't feel obligated to leave a comment though, i just hope you enjoyed.


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